Author's Note:
Numero uno: this still isn't finished. I can't say I know when it will be, but I'm working on it whenever I have time (which, believe you me, isn't often).
Secondly, I want to say that I'm not going to ask you to "be nice" or "go easy on me" just because I'm new at writing fanfic. Quite the contrary; please, be hypercritical. If you think some aspect of my story is totally unrealistic, say so in your review (of course, that does mean you have to review it, right?). If you think somebody's entirely out of character, say so. If you think the entire story is unoriginal, unlikely and badly written, say so! At least then I'll know I should either completely rework it or toss it. Just don't flame me for flaming's sake. That's boring, and it really doesn't actually help me. Though I suppose that if you're going to flame me, you don't really want to be helpful in the first place. Ah well.
As I said, more chapters coming ASAP.
Chapter 2: Insurgent
Courfeyrac watched the boy flit off through the shadowy street, then turned his attention back to the lifting of the omnibus into the small passage between the larger barricade and the houses. His eyes flicked upwards, and he saw Enjolras, fair and sublime, standing above the straining backs of his fellow revolutionaries.
"See him," Courfeyrac thought admiringly. "All of these men look to him for guidance. He's not the oldest here, not by far, nor the most experienced, nor the wisest nor most charming, yet they would all follow him anywhere - even those who have only just met him. Why?" He blinked slowly. "Because . . . he has a vision, and through his eyes we all can see it."
Would Mahiette see that vision and not begrudge Courfeyrac his ideals if he didn't come away from this wineshop alive? He tightened his lips unhappily. No, most likely not. Even in this most treacherous of hours he could see her fond, half-scolding smile as she carried his young nephew up to his room in the Rue de la Verrerie, and he gave a quiet, reflexive laugh, forgetting for a moment the wretched, devastated street before him and the stifling, metallic smoke lingering in the muggy air. His affectionate yet patronizing older sister, witty and sharp-tongued . . . how she reproved him, with mock-exasperation, for his easy ways and carelessness in his studies at the university! How she amiably complained about his womanizing ways and warned baby Theó not to grow up like his terrible uncle! Courfeyrac could imagine how angry she would be if she knew where he was, or if she saw the danger he was putting himself in. She respected his political views, and agreed with some of them, but she had never realized how seriously he took them. For that matter, he'd never really realized how seriously he took them - until today.
He shook his head and sighed loudly. Getting introspective like this now was useless; at this point, having come so far, it was better to do than question why. Perhaps at the back of his mind he knew the fast-approaching fate of the barricade and its defenders; perhaps it was only his feverishly excited imagination. Did it really make a difference any longer?
He smiled grimly, and the severe expression, so incongruous on his normally carefree face, made a young student next to him shift rather uneasily. No, he wasn't going to change anything now. Mahiette was no child, and she would, in time, come to terms with whatever happened at this barricade. Rubbing his temples, he threw a faint, reassuring grin to the nearby boy and gave his thoughts over to lighter matters - that pretty girl he'd helped over the barricade, for example.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *